


if you wanna be with me there’s a price to pay

by meremennen



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Djinni & Genies, F/M, Smut, aka some magic dust and a half-naked stranger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:34:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23031790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meremennen/pseuds/meremennen
Summary: Bellamy finds a genie and gets one wish. He wishes to be the only one to be able to make Clarke come.-OR, a bellarke modern au on how some magic dust and a half-naked stranger and good intentions can leave a lasting impact on your life in a matter of days#ooops,hefound a genie and made a wish
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 11
Kudos: 205
Collections: Bellarke smut





	if you wanna be with me there’s a price to pay

**Author's Note:**

> rushing to post this before midnight and counting my candles
> 
> -
> 
> A [silly little thing](https://meremennen.tumblr.com/post/611791210189881344/meremennen-if-you-wanna-be-with-me-theres-a) to this fic on my tumblr.

Bellamy finds the bottle on a Sunday, at the crack of dawn. But it’s only on Monday, a day later, when his life slowly turns upside down.

.

.

It’s a pretty bottle, tinted in sky blue, somewhat opaque. But what really catches his eyes is the light dancing under the surface of the glass — as if northern lights are being caught via magic and buried inside, shifting the blues into pink and lilac and white. 

He thinks the bottle is something his roommate, _Clarke,_ would like, too. 

The blue reminds him of _her_ eyes when the light hits them in a particular angle; the pink (in the exact pink shade of her favourite hoodie) of her rosy cheeks; the dancing white of the bright, almost white-ish shine in her locks in direct sunshine. The lilac shimmering is a nice blend of the blue and the pink and a nice complement to the other three, and the colours blended together are a fitting representation of the physical essence of _her._

He could give it to her as late house warming present, celebrating her moving into his vacated second room a couple months ago — following his roommate, Monty, moving out and moving in with his girlfriend, Harper (Clarke’s roommate), subsequently leaving Clarke in need of a roof over her head, and searching for a new place for herself. Moving in with Bellamy seemed to be the most logical choice at the time, given the urgency of the situation anyway. The arrangement had been agreed by both parties to be a temporary solution, despite some wary protests from their friend group — his sister in particular — expecting a disaster to strike. 

Three months later and no, thank you; they haven’t driven each other mad yet. They are doing just fine. 

Well, besides the tiny infatuation he’s developed a while back, which is harder to ignore now that they live together. (Not even when Clarke starts seeing someone else. Living together only made it more clear to him that her hair is the prettiest, shiniest thing he’s ever seen and he wouldn’t mind running his fingers through her curls _if_ she asked.)

When he finds the bottle on a Sunday, it’s like something is pulling his attention towards the spot; his gaze landing on the glass instantly. His eyes are mapping the peculiar, onion-like shape and marvel at the luminescent colour of it. It’s not too long before his legs move on their own, bringing him closer and closer until he finds himself _right there,_ tips of his fingers grazing the surface of the glass. His decision is made in an instant: he is going to take it. 

.

.

The bottle sits on his desk for a day because he’s too tired to do anything on Sunday, after his long shift bartending at _Bakelite_ — his friend, Nathan Miller’s — _Music Café & Bar. _ Saturdays are the worst, everything is just... too much. Too many people — many drunk or too handsy. Too warm. Too loud. Too suffocating. Sure, the tips are good, and that’s the only reason he’s still bartending for Miller on the weekends when the business is short of helping hands.

The extra money is always good to have.

When he finds the bottle behind a stack of wine covered under a generous amount of dust — faintly shimmering yet so bright at the same time — he sees the image in his head crystal clear. He knows what he could use it for, and he thinks that he could rub the dirt away without much effort, _maybe stuck some fairy lights inside._ Clarke is a big fan of candles, which was not too hard to find out after having seen various sizes and colours lining her windowsill, some making their way into their bathroom and kitchen table, too. He’s certain she would love the home-made decor, too. It could be a great gift, an apology for being a dick.

One thing you have to know about his roommate, Clarke, that she is dating a dick. In his (mostly) unbiased opinion, Clarke and her boyfriend don’t fit — not in the slightest — and he thinks they never will. Why? Bellamy met Collins, the boyfriend, a handful of times and finds him quite boring. Collins is bland and no challenging at all. Frankly, he doesn’t know why Clarke is even going out with him. It must be the sex. (Though he tries not to think too much about Clarke and Collins in the same bed together, let alone both of them naked.)

A few days ago, after a particularly stressful day, he accidentally slipped to Clarke, _‘He is boring as fuck, I don’t get what you like about him.’_ Which was a slip of a tongue, which he knows now was the wrong thing to say, judging by the sweltering look she was throwing his way; before hissing like an angered cat and stomping away, leaving him in their living room with a _‘Grow up, Bellamy!’._ They haven’t talked much since.

So the bottle is meant to be a belated housewarming slash ‘sorry for being a dick’ slash ‘I try to be a better roommate’ apology gift in one.

It’s not the first time they’ve clashed, and it won’t be the last. Even before — before they’ve become housemates, they’ve butted heads regularly but were mature enough to apologize later and smooth it over.

With that in mind, he finds one of his old t-shirts (tattered with tiny holes around the neckline), gets comfortable in the living room and with a deep intake of breath he begins cleaning the dirt away. He swears to himself he won’t stop until that bottle shines like new, so new that he can see his own reflection, just like looking into a mirror. 

What he doesn’t expect is the explosion of lights, or the puff of pink-purple smoke which suddenly renders his senses. Nor does he expect to find a half-naked man with a high ponytail (and no legs) smirking right in front of him, hardly 5 feet away; introducing himself as Roan and asking him to make a wish.

He blinks, his eyes must be fooling him.

He removes his glasses, squeezing his eyes closed. Then, for good measure he rubs his eyes with the back of his hands before he blinks them open, getting gradually control over his sight again and trying to focus. 

He’s still there. And he is still smirking at him, slight amusement turning quickly into pure joy on his face, clearly basking in Bellamy’s confusion like... hell, Bellamy sighs, _like Miller would do._

“Your wish?” Roan prompts, pointedly raising and eyebrow.

“My wish?” he asks dumbly.

“Yes, you get one wish. Choose wisely.”

Bellamy is skeptical, he’s not going to deny it. He purses his lips. 

“Like what? If I wish for a million dollars, you would just hand me over a stack of cash?”

Roan, the djinn, flicks his wrist in dismissal, looking bored. _“Booooring.”_

“It’s _my_ wish. If I wanted a wad of cash — because I need the money — mind you — could you do it?”

The djinn sighs, pursing his thick lips and Bellamy half expects him to say ‘yes’, affirming that he could materialize real, actual money if he wanted to. Instead, he crosses his arms in front of his chest and says, “Aim higher things, boy.”

Bellamy huffs. 

“You are not very helpful, do you know that? I get one wish, but if you are this picky with wishes, the least you could do is to tell me how to wish. Or... what am I even allowed to wish for?”

“I cannot tell you what you wish for.”

“I wished for money and you —“

“— Booo. I need _a challenge!_ Think of something... more elaborate.”

“Elaborate?” Bellamy folds his arms, mirroring the djinn’s pose. “So, for the argument’s sake, if I wished to be able to wish anyone’s clothes disappear into thin air with a blink of an eye... you could arrange that?”

“Eh. Getting close. But, —“ Roan’s eyes roam over his body appreciatively. It makes Bellamy blush. “You don’t need these tricks, boy. That would be a stupid wish, so don’t waste it.”

He would feel flattered if he didn’t feel slightly annoyed. 

“Turn my enemies into mice?”

“No.”

“Travel back in time.”

“Something that is actually possible, boy. Even I cannot interfere with the time.”

Bellamy is getting tired, honestly. Maybe he should throw the stupid bottle away and break it into pieces, but then Roan wouldn’t have a place to live. Bellamy had a hard time growing up himself, moving from place to place, so no. Taking away the djinn’s home would be cruel. He considers putting the bottle back where he’d found it and hope someone else is more to Roan’s liking and he would accept their wish for the first try.

But, Roan also said, once the genie was awakened a wish must be made, or else... something bad would happen.

He presses his lips together and drops his arms. 

Somewhere after the forty minutes mark, and twenty-something failed wishes later, Roan offers him a cigar.

“Nice try,” Bellamy huffs in response. “Not gonna waste my only wish on useless things like free tobacco.”

Roan grins. “On the house.”

Bellamy watches him, unamused, until he shrugs and the box of cigars disappears into nothing when he snaps his fingers.

.

.

After an hour of trying, he has lost all his patience. Roan should finally give up and offer him the money and go and call it a day. He groans, frustrated.

“I don’t know what to wish for!”

Roan has finished his cigar by now, and he’s back to his previous position of a stoic observer and crossed arms, floating slightly left and right in his sparkling pink-purple mist of cloud.

Bellamy’s getting annoyed beyond belief and he’s too tired to hide it.

“It’s not like if I wished to be the only one to make my roommate come you could arrange that?” He snorts, dismissing the idea, because it’s ridiculous to begin with. Why would he screw over _insanely hot, stupidly cute, sweet, adorable_ Clarke like that? He is not a monster.

Roan claps his hands together, eyes glinting with the excitement — as if millions of stars are exploding inside them, creating galaxies out of nothing as he thinks the words over — and soon, a smile (bigger than Bellamy has seen him flash before) spreads over his face.

“Excellent choice! You chose wisely.”

Bellamy’s eyes go wide at the same time, mortified. The djinn claps his hands twice and there’s a sizzling sound and more fairy dust filling the air and billowing around him; some of which lands in Bellamy’s hair, and Roan’s body is — damn it — visibly fading away, becoming one with the purple mist.

“Wait, no! That wasn’t my wish!”

By the time Bellamy finished the sentence, Roan is gone, leaving only glittery pixie dust behind. The bottle, too, is on the table where Bellamy placed it, with some of the purple dust scattered around it. Bellamy swears. He entertains the thought that there’s a good chance he imagined the whole thing. No one would believe him. He shakes his head, causing some pixie dust to dislodge and float and float and float... and his eyes follow the dust billowing and dancing in the air until it settles on the ground. Who knows? That dust around the glass (and in his hair) might as well be some of the stuff Jasper and Monty smokes. And earlier, with all his previous vigorous cleaning, jerking his hand left and right, he had stirred the air and inadvertently let it settle on his skin, causing him to inhale it. 

Yes. Yes, that must be it. He is in his living room, still mesmerized by the luminescent, cotton candy colours reflecting in his eyes. 

_He is high on something. That is the most likely scenario,_ he reasons. Djinns are not real. His mind merely conjured Roan up; and the most logical explanation is that he was one of the handsy customers he served last night, someone who left a lasting impression.

(If only the air of the room didn’t smell of cigar and lavender faintly.)

.

.

Clarke’s arrival is signaled by the slamming of door on the same Monday night. It’s nearing midnight. Bellamy’s already changed for bed, he’s changed into long pajama pants and an old t-shirt; his hair is flat on one side, tamed by the pillow; glasses sitting askew on his nose. He was listening to his Spotify and had been on the edge of sleep when he heard the rattling noise of the door, causing him to jerk upright and jump to his feet. Already in motion when he is pulling on the waistband of his pants, hand scrambling for the glasses before dragging himself out of his room and blinking himself more alert. 

She stops dead in her tracks when she sees him. She is fuming. 

“So. You were right. Finn is an asshole! We broke up.”

Not exactly what he said, but — _wait, what?_ “You broke up?”

“No, you’re right. _I_ kicked his ass. He has another girlfriend and he’s had another girlfriend this whole time! How do I know, you ask?” She gulps down some air before she dives back into her rant, and begins pacing, he thinks, in an attempt to wear herself down. “We were in bed. Having sex -“

Bellamy is still not completely awake yet, but he winces. “Too much information.”

Clarke looks at him with murderous eyes. “We. Were. _In. Bed._ He was trying to ... you know ... manoeuver, and I was so close to... something good, when his _other girlfriend_ kicked the door open, and you can imagine! I didn’t come. She called me a slut. I called Finn an asshole, grabbed my things and kicked him out. If he shows up looking for me, don’t you dare to open that door for that asshole!” She says, pointing towards the entrance with a menacing finger.

He snorts internally. Not a hard promise to keep. He won’t. 

.

.

And he didn’t. Even though her ex was driving him crazy, trying to reach Clarke for a week every day, begging through the door for hours. 

As the days passed, Clarke also grew frustrated. She left the apartment early and came home when Bellamy gave her the green light via text. She hardly slept. She became more agitated and snappy, even when the visits from Collins began to let up. He heard her many times groan, slam her door shut and storm away.

Until a few days later, the mailman rang and given Clarke has already left for work, and given that Bellamy’s schedule is more flexible doing translations in home office, he signed for the delivery. The mailman kept giving him a look, a smirking, almost salivating look, when he handed the box over with the ‘HANDLE WITH CARE’ sticker on the sides, pointedly telling him, “Careful, THIS SIDE UP.”

He only noticed the sender when the door has closed shut behind him and he placed the box on the small coffee table in the living room: 

**AZGEDA TOYS**

**the best rated sex shop online**

**_'with us nothing stays frosty'_ **

Clarke arrives home nine excruciatingly long hours later, and Bellamy — having been distracted by the package the entire time; unable to focus on his work — is pretty much on the verge of pulling his hair out after having been running a hand through his curls, tugging at the ends endlessly. 

When he hears the door open and close, he jumps to his feet, takes a deep breath and turns the corner to watch her face change as he shares the news.

“Clarke, your package is here.” He tries to keep the accusation out of his voice. He tries. 

“It is?? Finally!” She skips happily across the room, biting her lip and barely containing her smile as she reaches for the package. “I’ll be in my room!”

Bellamy almost chokes on his breath. “Uh — RIGHT... NOW??”

Clarke raises an eyebrow at him. It doesn’t take long until she realizes why he must look so ill, the truth of it hitting her immediately and makes her eyes widen into saucers for a second.

“I see. So... you know?”

Bellamy furrows his brows in confusion, his lips part. 

“Hard not to, when the mailman is giving you — not _you_ you,” he gestures at her wildly, trying to explain without words,” but the figurative you, so _me_ — this knowing, lusty look.”

She giggles, covering her mouth with a hand. “I’m sorry. It’s just ... okay, I didn’t want to bring this up because you don’t like to talk about my sex life —“ Correction: he ain’t a prude. But he’d rather not talk about her sex life that includes anyone else but —“ but, remember how I was in bed with Finn when his girlfriend showed up?” 

_Trying not to,_ he bitterly thinks. He nods, frowning, so she continues. ”I was so close to the edge, you know. But then, nothing. It ran away from me, and ... ever since that horrible day... I tried, _I tried_ to do something about it, but could not get myself there, yet. And —“ Clarke sighs deeply, sounding tired. Sounding as if she’s ready to give up,” I’m frustrated, Bellamy, so frustrated! And my friend, BOB, in _this_ package —“ she shifts her body slightly, lifting the box slightly along with it, “— is going to help me out.”

Bellamy feels his heart pulsing in his throat and his face getting even warmer. 

His ears are ringing so hard already. He parts his lips to ask but unable to conjure any sound. He gulps.

Clarke picks up on his confusion quickly, she pats the box in her arms two times, casting her eyes downwards. “BOB. As in, my brand new _Battery Operated Boyfriend.”_ She blows out a breath and lifts her eyes, finally looking at him again. Her face coloured a slight rosy pink. “Please, don’t judge. I need to do _this_ or I‘m going to do something stupid.”

Bellamy’s heart starts into a crazy gallop, the earlier heat to his face flares stronger; his ears burn. For two reasons. 

One, the image of a naked Clarke, trying to get herself off is something he had been trying very hard not to imagine since he read the label on that box. Yet, here they are, both flushed, eye to eye, and she’s talking about touching herself, causing his cock stir in his pants. _Good grace._

Two, _what if_ Roan, the djinn, is able to see and hear them? That stupid bottle is right there, on top of the bookshelf, where he relocated it after the incident, so yeah, out of sight but still with a prime view at the living room and _at them._ And if he (Roan) does pay attention, he must be laughing their ass off at his own wicked geniality.

He blinks, shaking his head. But, what if. He might as well try. What is there to lose if he tries. Bellamy firmly believes they are two consenting adults here. He wouldn’t have it any other way. If she wants to say ‘no’ and laugh into his face, she could at any point. He’ll get over it. He’d sulk, and he’d feel heartbroken for a while but he’d get over it.

He lets go of a shaky breath, as he tries to get a grip over himself.

“How stupid is stupid?” He asks at last, and carefully watches her for any minuscule sign of discomfort.

She shrugs, but she appears rather depleted now, all previous fight having left her body. “Like signing up for Tinder stupid?” She says, voice small and slightly uncertain.

He swallows. “Or —“

“Or?”

Her eyes flutter and he wets his lips. He will tell her everything. How could he not? But first, he has to know.

“Or, you will let me help you out.”

“Help me out.” She tastes the words on her lips, and for a moment he thinks she will laugh and they will both have to pretend it was a joke and play it off. But, it’s his lucky day apparently. She tilts her head, considering him for a minute. Maybe he’s imaging things now, but he doesn’t think so. He catches the rosy tint to her cheeks developing into a darker shade, that was definitely not this deep before and it gives him hope. “Would you?”

He snorts. “Make my stupidly hot roommate feel good, who happens to be a good friend of mine in pain? Yeah, sure. I think I can manage and get you there.”

She blinks. 

He repeats the sentiment, now with more affirmation behind it.

“I can make you feel nice. I’ll do my best.” 

She sighs. 

“Okay. If you want to do this, I’m in.” He smiles at her reassuringly. “So just you know, if this doesn’t work out, BOB is getting a chance to prove himself.”

His smile drops, replaced by a scowl. No, _not_ if he has any say in it, that would be embarrassing to begin with. And agonizing; knowing she is right there, across the hall touching herself in ways he is aching to do, not just this once. No. He squares his shoulders, like he’s preparing for a fight. In some way, he is. He lets his face light up, his lips curling into a — what she calls — infuriating grin. He’s got the real deal, right here at his fingertips, and in his pants. Here’s hoping.

“Your room or mine?”

Without further ado, she presses her body against his, capturing his mouth, pulling at his bottom lip. Her lips are warm and wet and so, so soft. He never imagined that kissing someone could feel like this. He groans, arms locking around her, and he is kissing her more deeply. 

He sighs raggedly before he moves to nibble at her neck. His hand is cupping the back of her neck, the other slides down to her lower back. As his fingers twist into her hair, she moans, pressing her fingers tighter into his skin, nails digging in deeply, which he takes as an encouragement. He slips the hand on her back lower, cupping her ass.

“Bellamy,” she sighs in response. They are both breathing heavily, out of breath. Slightly, he pulls back, looking her in the eye. “My room.”

He growls. He pats her ass once, which she takes as a sign and jumps up, wrapping her legs around his waist. He captures her mouth again and there’s nothing soft about it now as he carries her to her bedroom.

She bounces on the bed as he drops her, breaking the kiss. They are both heaving, gasping for air, even so, never breaking eye contact. That is, until she draws her bottom lip between her teeth and smiles at him coyly. 

“I’m already wet.” His cock stirs, her words making his heart pound harder. He makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds like a growl.

He pulls his shirt over his head and lets it drop before he crawls on top of her, forcing her on her elbows.

“Let me be the judge of that.”

He kisses her softly before letting his hands move and explore her body; fingers tracing her soft belly under her shirt, caressing her ribcage, the sides of her breasts. She arches her back, pulling back slightly as she reaches for her shirt and yanks it off. She is wearing one of those lacy bustiers underneath, in mauve, breasts spilling on the side tantalizingly; the sight making his mouth water. Her nipples are covered by the pads of the bra and whilst he does appreciate the sight — _oh God, she looks so sexy_ — but he has to see more; he has to see and feel her soft flesh, her rosy nipples under his palms. As if she’s reading his thoughts, she knowingly grins at him, arms twisting as her hands find the edge of the lace and careful, not to tear the delicate fabric she peels it off, uncovering her skin inch by inch. 

He swears softly, voice laced with a mixture of want and awe. 

“You like them?” She whispers, arching her body, pushing herself closer so their skin touch.

He kisses her collarbone, blowing hot air against her skin as his mouth moves, tracing her skin, peppering her with kisses; he licks and bites, only pausing at her breasts. His thumbs run over her nipples. They were already hardened into peaks when she removed her bra, but feeling them under his hands is an entirely different sensation. 

“Love ‘em,” he whispers, voice low. “So pretty.” She makes a contented noise, almost purring as she’s pushing her chest up and pressing them more into him.

“Touch me.” She closes her eyes, her face deliciously pink from her blush. 

His thumbs circle her nipples a couple of times, so mesmerized by the sight, he thinks he could touch her for hours and it still wouldn’t be enough. He cups her breasts, they feel heavy but pliant. As he drops his head to suck a nipple between his lips, Clarke moans softly. Her mouth finds his neck, leaving small bites until she settles at his earlobe, worrying the skin there as she nibbles. Her fingers press into his biceps. 

With a final kiss to her breast, he continues down her body, pressing kisses to her belly button, to her hips, to the strip of skin just above the band of her pants. She is wearing skinny jeans without buttons, which proves to be a problem at first, but she realizes quickly the issue at hand and lifts her hips, letting him pull her jeans down her legs along with her underwear. His mouth is back to her thighs in no time. He glances back at her, and he watches as she pushes herself up on her elbows, watching him, which he counters with a smirk before he ducks his head down and places a kiss on her folds. He hears her sharp intake of breath which only spurs him on more, and he licks and kisses, causing her to drop herself back onto the bed, inhaling sharply. A few moments pass and he can feel her hands on his shoulders first, then, they move to his hair and she pulls on his curls slightly. 

He smiles. He takes her clit into his mouth and sucks, making her whimper. He laughs. She seemingly tries not to thrust into his mouth, which is his cue to separate her folds with two fingers and slips his tongue between her folds, licking into her. 

“Oh my god,” she cries out, arching her back, the hold of her fingers in his curls tightening. He licks and teases, the tip of his tongue worrying her clit, teeth grazing the swollen nub. “Bell! Bell - I can feel it... I’m going to ... “

He keeps teasing her, a small laugh escaping him as another _ohmygod_ leaves her lips and he doesn’t let up. Oh no, not until she shakes. Which is not far away, he can tell, because she bucks her hips a few times, involuntarily. By the time she gasps, “Bell,” her body is shaking with the orgasm coursing through her.

He likes the way his name fell off her lips, breathy and sweet at the same time.

He falls back on his heels, letting her recover, watching her as she gradually calms down. Her cheeks are rosy, her eyes are still dazed as a happy smile breaks through her face, making him grin and stupidly so.

“You okay?” he asks her. Her eyes snap to his, and she blinks a few times before she finds her words.

She lets out a breathy laugh which only makes his grin widen. “Yeah, I’m good. Though, you’re awfully overdressed, “she teases.

He laughs, and when she pointedly drops her gaze to his tented pants, he inhales deeply, taking his time, puffing his chest. His lips curl into a knowing smirk, telling her even without words that the point’s been taken; then, he angles his body and takes off his sweats.

He climbs on top of her. Her hands are on his waist in an instant, making his skin tingle. 

Her lips part and she cranes her neck in search for a kiss. He bumps his nose against hers, still teasing, so she scoffs, which makes him respond with a breathy laugh. 

She pouts, clearly dissatisfied, eyebrows scrunching up in annoyance. He lowers his head and kisses her. As he deepens the kiss, he moves his hands, getting hold of her wrists and moving them, effectively pinning them to the bed.

He licks his lips. “Condom?”

“Oh. Um, under the bed.”

He raises an eyebrow at her, but she just shrugs in response, telling him to look for the seaweed basket, that fits just under the frame and it should be within arm’s reach. 

He rolls on the condom, her hands having found their way back to his hips, her touch is comforting. If only his mind wasn’t in overdrive, telling him to stop being so slow and get to it. He swallows and positions himself at her entrance. 

He exhales, almost in sync with his movements, as he pushes inside, her fingers press into his skin and he is inside her, and trusting.

He’s working up a sweat quickly. With every snap of his hips, she responds eagerly with a gasp or a snap of her hips upwards or a soft mewl, making him trust deeper, alternating between quick and fast and long and sweet, finding a good rhythm with her. His hands find hers eventually, fingers waving together tightly, pressing her more onto the mattress. He is so close, it takes every bit of his self-control not to let loose, not to give in to that familiar tightening low in his belly, in his balls; not before he can feel her tighten around him. He can tell her orgasm is close, when her breathing gets erratic and she squeezes her eyes, baring her neck to him. He drops his head, biting softly on the spot where her neck meets her shoulders, making her gasp and open her eyes.

“Bell - Bell - please... _come inside_ -“ she mumbles, chanting his name repeatedly. It doesn’t take long from here to feel her clench around him. He lets go barely a minute later.

.

.

He wakes up the next morning, warm and content in her arms, her breath hot on his neck, and he thinks, he could get used to this. _Goddamit._ He could. He wants this to be the beginning of something and not just a one-time thing. He absolutely cannot find a good reason why they shouldn’t do this again, or why they shouldn’t be together, no matter how long he rakes his mind. Well, besides the djinn thing. He still has to come clean about their circumstances, that much is clear. If the appreciative looks she was giving him the night before are anything to go by, she finds him attractive — maybe even tolerably hot and sexy.

And maybe, she finds him funny and smart, too, and not just in the sense of a worthy opponent she likes to spar with verbally. 

He feels her stir behind him, already missing her hands before she retracts them and turns on her back. 

There’s no point in pretending he is still asleep, he might win another ten, fifteen minutes, but he’d rather address what’s on his mind head on.

He turns to look at her and attempts not to worry about his breath in the mornings, also attempting a smile.

“Uh, I was gonna make you an omelette and tell you.”

She licks her lips as she looks at him. 

“Tell me what?”

He swallows, giving himself a prolonged moment. Suddenly he feels nervous. He sighs.

“What is it?”

“I think it’s my fault. No, I don’t think. I’m pretty sure it’s my fault that you broke up with Collins. Or that you couldn’t — you know, reach absolution and get yourself off.”

She twists her eyebrows in confusion. A moment passes and she erupts in giggles.

“Hey, I’m being serious.”

She opens her mouth to say something but he stops her.

“I found this bottle. It’s... well, please don’t laugh at me again. I know it will sound crazy, but I’m telling the truth.” He takes a deep breath, bracing himself, and tells her everything. About the djinn, about his unfortunate wish — though at this point, it is a matter of perspective, really — as unwitting as it had been, still something he genuinely wished for.

“So, I fear you will have to summon the djinn and make a wish and undo this. Because I really want to take you out on a date if you see it in yourself to forgive me.”

She turns to her side, the blanket covering her body slips, baring one breast to him. His eyes drop for a moment, sue him. He blinks and snaps his gaze back to Clarke.

She watches him knowingly, barely containing a smile.

“Bell, first of all. I broke up with Finn because -“ she scoffs and screws her nose up,” he was cheating on me. He was cheating with me, too. You cannot believe that embarrassment... being caught in bed whilst we were having sex and then suddenly a stranger appears, calls you the worst names in the book and making you realize that someone you trusted is not who you thought they were.” She sighs, deep, dragging in a deep breath before she continues. “Making you feel disgusted. Even if — _I know_ — I know it wasn’t my fault, but she, them, made me feel disgusted with myself. Someone not deserving of good things... I wasn’t in love, I think, but it still hurt.”

Bellamy wants to punch Collins for making her feel like that. He works his jaw, hands squeezing into a tight ball at his sides.

“And two,” her voice breaks through the invisible wall of his rage. He takes a calming breath and lets his fingers uncurl. “I’m not quite sure yet. Maybe I don’t wanna waste my wish, if that’s the one wish I get. I could do some really good things with it... “ she teases. _“Three,_ haven’t you heard? I’m single.”

Her voice is teasing and light. He takes a moment to observe her more closely, looking for clues of any disguised discomfort but the look on her face is — if not completely shy of her earlier confession but — he thinks it’s something soft.

“My lucky day, it seems.”

She hums in agreement, dropping her gaze, only for a moment.

“Wanna know a secret?” He nods. “I only dated Finn because one day you were ‘just Bellamy’, and the next I know, sometime after I moved in, _‘I wanna try what it feels like to kiss him’_ on top of you being infuriatingly well-read and hot. And that realization freaked me out. I even got a haircut.”

He laughs out loud, ducking his head. He remembers vividly the day he saw her with her new shoulder-length hair; leaving her skin exposed during summer, her locks bouncing happily, or so he thought. He hadn’t told her yet, but the sight of her that day knocked the air out of him. He knew he wanted to take a leap of faith. Ask her out. Woo her. But then, Collins happened.

“Look, since you brought this up, I have another confession to make,” he says. And he tells her.

“Now you know.”

She places her hand on his chest, just above his heart. She smiles and he smiles back. “Now I do.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> You might ask - but what about Roan?? 
> 
> I thought about this, and I think, I don’t have to give all the answers. 
> 
> Maybe no magic was actually involved, Clarke was with the wrong person; trying to suppress feelings and avoid fate, and all the djinn did was giving “the kick”, in this case the confidence booster our big boy needed.
> 
> Maybe they only summon him again when they need someone to officiate their wedding. 
> 
> -
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you liked it and please give me some feedback. <3


End file.
